


Grave

by spiritualmachines



Category: Hanson (Band)
Genre: Car Accidents, Darkness, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Loss, Parent Death, Present Tense, Religion, Sibling Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-28
Updated: 2018-12-28
Packaged: 2019-09-29 10:07:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,318
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17201501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spiritualmachines/pseuds/spiritualmachines
Summary: Excerpt:Nothing will ever be okay again.





	Grave

**Author's Note:**

> *This story is from Zac's POV.

_November 2007_

The accident wasn’t his fault.

Logically, he knows this, and he knows that his family knows this. But rational knowledge won’t do a damn thing to stop his toxic, cyclical thoughts, nor will it prevent the guilt from tearing him apart from the inside out. He imagines that soon, he’ll be reduced to nothing but a pile of skin and bones for people to kick aside to avoid tripping over. That’s all he is right now, anyway—a burden, a fucking waste of space. The sorriest excuse for a brother, a husband, a son.

Like an invalid, he sits on one of the folding chairs at the cemetery as the priest reads several passages the family had apparently selected without his input. His elderly relatives are the only other people seated, but he isn’t strong enough to stand up and watch as they lower him six feet under. The ground, wet with rain, does little to support the chair and it sinks beneath him slowly, as if reminding him where we will all meet at our inevitable end.

“What, then, shall we say in response to this? If God is for us, who can be against us? He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? Who will bring any charge against those whom God has chosen? It is God who justifies. Who is he that condemns?”

Bile rises up in his throat and he instantly regrets actually listening to the scripture. Of course, they had to choose a passage about the son being spared. They probably all wish _he_ was the one God had taken instead of Dad.

Truth be told, he feels the same way.

If he were allowed to go back in time and do it all over again, he would have found a way to save his father’s life—even if it meant that he had to sacrifice himself instead. 

He hasn’t eaten, slept, or spoken more than a few words to anyone since the paramedics took him away. Waking up in the hospital to the news that Dad hadn’t survived had been it. Game, set, match. What was left? Nothing. 

A soft hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and he flinches despite himself. He should find comfort in his wife with all of her love and support, but he can’t. Her eyes tell a story of disappointment that her practiced demeanor will never reveal. And he knows she tries to mean well, but right now all she’s doing is adding to his overflowing list of regrets. 

The remainder of the service passes by in an insufferable blur, but he feels no relief when it’s over. How could he, when this is only the beginning?

“Zac, it’s time to go.”

Kate’s voice cuts through his thoughts and he sighs while shaking his head. 

“I’m not ready to go home.”

_Home is where you ignore me. Home is where you set food out for me but eat in another room. I don’t want to go home, Kate. I want to talk to my dad. I want him to tell me everything is going to be okay, but he can’t. And neither can you._

Lifting his head, he meets her weary gaze and wills his eyes to transmit the words that he can’t find the courage to say. 

She seems to get the message, her own eyes clouding over as she too holds back her true feelings. Zac can’t remember the last time they were fully honest with each other. Were they ever? Suddenly, he isn’t so sure. Then again, he isn’t sure of _anything_ these days. He feels like a stranger in his own skin, a fraudulent impostor, a sinner, a pawn in the world’s cruelest game.

As if God agrees with him, a steady rain once again begins to fall, causing his family members to scatter back to their cars. 

“I’m not going,” he repeats, more to himself than to her.

She sighs and walks away without a fight, leaving him alone beside the grave. The gaping open hole that he caused by not being good enough. 

*** * * * ***

Outside, the sky is clear and birds chirp their carefree melodies, blissfully unaware of the shitstorm swirling mercilessly all around him. Inside of the treehouse they had built together, he cries. For the first time since the sound of crunching metal and screeching tires met his ear, he cries, and not just for his dad, but for everything he lost—his bittersweet past and his wasted future.

He used to spend a great deal of time here, even long after he’d morphed from a boy into a supposed man. He found solace in the sturdy wooden structure, because even though it had aged over the years as all things do, it never really seemed to grow old—at least, not to him.

Within its walls, he falls apart without apology. Even as footsteps approach, he pulls his knees to his chest and continues to cry without acknowledging the other person’s presence. He doesn’t know to whom the shadow belongs, but he doesn’t care. He can't take another sympathetic stare or any more fake words of understanding. No one could possibly understand what he’s going through. He’s totally and miserably alone in this, and he can’t help but feel like he deserves it.

The footsteps retreat, and he is once again left in his lonely cage of silence. Once upon a time, he would have tried to build himself up again, allowing himself to believe in the trite phrases that keep so many people going from one day to the next, like _things will get better eventually_. But he can’t, because they won’t.

Nothing will ever be okay again.

*** * * * ***

When he wakes from a half-sleep that wasn’t the slightest bit restful, the moon is high in the sky and everything is still and soundless. He still isn’t ready to go home, but he no longer has a choice—for as much as he would like to take up permanent residence in that treehouse and declare himself a hermit for the rest of his days, Kate will wait up until he comes home and quite frankly, he’s tired of letting people down.

After making his reluctant descent, he feels his way through the darkness until he reaches his car at the end of the driveway. There’s a slip of paper wedged between the windshield and a wiper blade, and he snatches it up, squinting to make sense of the slanted letters on the page.

_Zac,_

_I know you’re not ready to talk yet, but I want you to know that when you are, I’ll be here. I will always be here for you. Hell, we don’t even have to talk if you don’t want to. I just want you to know that you don’t have to do this alone. I love you and that hasn’t changed. It will never change._

_Taylor_

Once he’s read it twice more, he stuffs the note into his pocket and climbs behind the wheel. As he starts the engine, he realizes that he’s crying again, tears stinging his eyes and splashing down against his jeans, reminding him that he should feel lucky to be here, to be alive.

Maybe if he were a better man, or a stronger man, he would feel that way… but instead, he is wretched and weak, and he feels the opposite of lucky. And as he navigates the familiar roads home, he has to fight the urge to swerve into oncoming traffic and put an end to it all.

But that would be too easy. Instead, he’s destined to keep spinning through his life, never quite sure which way is up and which is down, all the while hating himself a little more with each passing day.


End file.
